


Closing Time

by Accidentallytechohazardous



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anxiety, F/F, Trans Character, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:22:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9185822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidentallytechohazardous/pseuds/Accidentallytechohazardous
Summary: Rukia is a musician who becomes transfixed with the only woman in the world with the power to kill her already nonexistant music career.





	

An important thing to remember is that when you have a passion, you have to be your own number one fan. Humility is all well and good, but too often great creators become discouraged. It can be lonely work, creating things, working with your own mind and hands.

Rukia’s bow carves over the strings with precision, feeling the low and echoing reverbs through her fingers and her chin tucked on top of the violin’s body. This heavy and wooden instrument is demanding, the sore callouses on her fingers working against the wire strings while she plays the low melody of the story she wants to create. The song of a woman and a wolf, its tune staying deep and dangerous.

Eyes squeezed closed, Rukia keeps her breath tight and her chin up. On the inside of her eyelids she can see the story played out. The girl scorned, left out in the cold winter. As revenge keeps her body and soul warm, she begins to shed the cocoon of her humanity. The woman becomes the wolf. And now, with sharpened teeth, she-

_THUNK THUNK THUNK._

Rukia cringes as the note goes horrifyingly sour, her bow goes the wrong angle and screeches like it’s being chopped up, horror movie style, for fireplace kindling.

One indigo eye cracks open, swiveling around to point a dark glare at the garage ceiling. Rukia and Byakuya agreed that the Three Knock System was best when he had to let her know that guests were coming over. Before, he would simply enter the garage when she was practicing, which worked for neither of them. Byakuya didn’t like when he entered and she didn’t notice him, and she didn’t like when she opened her eyes and he suddenly appeared right in front of her waiting for her to finish.

She packs up her violin in its case, the simple elegance of which has long since been marred by colorful stickers Rukia attached when she was 16. She then puts the case into her backpack and zips it up tight. Can’t be too careful. It’s going to be a long night.

With a goodbye over her shoulder, Rukia leaves out the front door and tells Byakuya she’ll be back late. A wet winter rain opens up over her head and creates a drum rhythm against the top of her blue umbrella. A sturdy barat-tat-a-tat-a-tat. In defiance of Rukia’s own usual brand of cynicism, tonight is a night where for once she is going to stay positive.

* * *

 

“You’re not still living in your brother’s place, are you? Jesus, Rukia.”

Other important things to remember: when making your plan for self-improvement, maybe don’t tell your friends about it right away.

Rukia sips her beer and raises an eyebrow, trying not to look sullen as she can see Renji gearing up for some kind of genius plan of oh-so helpful advice.

Said genius plan begins as soon as Renji bares to drag his eyes away from the soccer game playing on the bar television, and Rukia can see his brain shifting gears as his eyes blink into clarity. “Y’know that if you asked, Kuchiki would probably set you up with an apartment in the city. Even if he won’t, just tell him you wanna be closer to school. That’ll probably work.”

“What’s that matter? He’d still be paying for it.” Rukia slumps back into the voracious and polyester embrace of the booth’s back cushion, possibly to never return. She balances her beer bottle between her thighs over the folds of her skirt. “I am gonna move out! I just want the money to do it on my own, otherwise what’s even the point? I’d still just be living out of Nii-san’s pocket like I am right now.”

A snort escapes Renji’s nose, his white teeth gnawing a spare toothpick into submission. Probably in an attempt to soak up the sour odor of alcohol that Rukia can already smell coming strong from his breath. “That’s not why you should move out. Money’s tight for everyone these days. Trust me, no one with think badly of you for needing help. Ya’ think Kira an’ I would be living above his parents’ garage if it was for our own dignity?”

“Ugh. Yeah, alright. You have a point.” Rukia’s nose wrinkles. She hates it when Renji puts her problems into perspective. In a way, he has some similarities to Byakuya- they’re always expecting more from her. Stupid guilt-trippy supportive loved ones.

Rukia’s half-empty bottle lands on the table with a dull noise, and she smoothes her skirts over as she scoots out from the booth. “I gotta set up.” Over her shoulder, Rukia gives Renji a last stern look. “And I’m going at my own pace.” He raises his drink to her as she hoists her backpack up on one slender shoulder.

 

The bar is full of noise, dozens of voices all bouncing off of each other and fighting for volume. It can often feel that way, like words are in limited supply and once they run out there will be nothing but the silence between them.

Rukia doesn’t care much for silence one way or another. When she was younger, it was terrifying to her. Not everybody understands what it’s like to be alone with your thoughts, when your thoughts are very much the things that want to tear you down. Sometimes Rukia thinks she never feels less alone in her whole life than when she’s thinking by herself. And that’s with the fact that she was a pretty lonely and moody kid to begin with.

As a musician, or at least a person interested in making music, Rukia made a treaty with silence. It can be good for a pause between long notes. A dramatic stop before a crashing finale. A much needed breath so she can regain her focus as well as a chance to quiet the wriggling nerves in her belly. The trick all around is to accept that all things are temporary. The silence. The noise. The things inbetween.

On the shallow stage of the bar, Rukia plays her song. It’s bouncier than the one she practiced in the garage. The notes are high and piercing and short, whining out a fast-paced tune that should (hopefully) snatch at people’s attention and turn eyes on her.

Without noticing when it starts, Rukia starts to stomp her foot on the stage, and begins her habit of rocking back and forth. It used to embarrass her, but now it’s okay. It helps her concentrate. Playing a song about a tragic downfall, ending with the hero standing back up on two feet. Shaking, but very much alive.

Then comes the great finale. A big, crashing end to the song where the hero careens into a desperate victory. Rukia bites her lips and tightens her grip around the neck of her violin. Here it comes.

God.

Dammit.

Rukia’s lips peel back into an unpretty snarl, and her beloved instrument squeals unprettily as the careful rhythm is broken by someone’s rancorous, high, and hideous peal of laughter. The single cackle from somewhere in the bar is a sound that is at once akin to nails dragging down a chalkboard, a blender, and a monkey banging trash can lids together all at once. Rukia could weep.

Nonetheless, the music has stopped, which means the song has ended. There’s a shallow applause, one that Rukia appreciates. Let her be frank and say that most people who are untrained in music probably didn’t notice or care about her fuck-up as much as she did, but the clapping could certainly be louder and more sincere. Rukia takes a bow and a curtsey before packing up her instrument and slinking away behind the curtain to tiptoe down the stairs back onto the floor.

A few well-meaning patrons tell her she did a good job as she tries to hoof it around the room as inauspiciously as possible, and Rukia blushes on cue each time. Back at the booth, Renji is the only one who looks concerned.

“Hey, bud. What happened out there?” Renji asks, and it’s not mean at all but entirely earnest. He’s seen her perform enough times to know when she’s off her game.

“Wasn’t feeling it.” Rukia lies, and accepts the cold bottle Renji passes to her so she can place it on her stiff neck and jaw. “I gotta work on that song more.”

“Yeah? You’ll get it. You still sounded really good out there.” Renji beams, and the earnesty in his eyes is so bright it could burn out Rukia’s retinas. “You’re gonna stick around though, right? I’m meeting some people here later an’ you never go out with me anymore.”

“God, what are you? My shadow?” Rukia tries to grouse instead of smile, but she fails miserably. “Sure, of course I’ll spend time with you and your weird friends. Who else is going to tell embarrassing stories about you in middle school.”

“Kira and Hisagi.”

“Gay.”

* * *

 

Make no mistake, Renji’s friends aren’t really that weird.

Or rather, they’re as weird as one would expect the friends of someone with bright red hair and full-body tattoos like Renji to be. In general, they tend to be very nice and very loud people. If Rukia has any reason to avoid them, it’s purely her own faults.

“Five grand?” Shuuhei whistles lowly while Momo blushes deeply. “That’s amazing, Hinamori. When are you going to quit data entry and just stick to painting full-time?”

Momo, a woman whose hands are perpetually stained in watercolor and smells like an art classroom, looks down at her shoes shyly and scratches her neck with chipped fingernails. “Senpai, it was artist’s alley! Business is always good there, that doesn’t mean I’d be making that much year-round.”

“Still, it’s very impressive. You’ve worked very hard on your pictures.” Izuru insists. Whenever Rukia sees him around he always looks a bit shy and mopey, but one beer in and he’s already starting to perk up and look a bit glossy around the eyes. “You’re a prolific artist.”

“So are you, Kira. Aren’t you supposed to be working on your book.”

“Ah, one bill at a time. The library isn’t exactly handing out yearly bonuses for employees of the month.”

Momo looks up at the overhead lights thoughtfully. “I’ve thought about maybe trying tattooing? It sounds hard, but I hear there’s good money in it…”

“What about illustrating?” Renji suggests, grinning a wolfish grin and slapping Rukia on the back hard enough to dislocate something. “You can do an album cover for Rukia here.” Suddenly six eyes are all very focused on her. Rukia’s hands instantly go clammy and she feels a cold sweat trickle down the back of her neck.

Fire.

Hellfire.

“Are you working on an album, Miss Kuchiki?”

“That’s so great! I have some friends who I bet would be interested.

“No!” Rukia’s voice cracks high, and she could kill Renji right now. She could murder him to death. “I- I mean- I’m still in my last year of school right now! I’m supposed to be working on my studies, so I haven’t really thought about anything beyond graduation…”

There’s a quieter air here now. Not one of hostility, but a little disappointed. Rukia understands- these are people with big dreams and boring jobs. The last thing they want to hear is about Rukia, someone the same age as they are and who has the money to comfortably fund her dreams, putting her music on the backburner in favor of something vastly more responsible and dull.

Shuuhei reliably breaks the pregnant pause, voice laced with forced interest of someone trying very hard to still make Rukia feel included. “What are you studying?”

“Art history…”

With all the grace of a man diving out of the way of a grenade of awkwardness named Rukia Kuchiki, Renji stands up and waves his hand in the air like a muppet in a hurricane. “Hey, there’s Rangiku! She was supposed t’ be here early, I guess she stepped out for some fresh air or something.”

Rukia’s savior struts over on three-inch heels, bounding across the bar floor. Her hips sashay widely, and though she’s suitably bundled up for the chilly weather, her stylish and elegant outfit does not attempt to hide her shape. Rukia makes a solemn vow to herself that she will not get distracted by this woman’s tight turtleneck sweater, and then fails to keep that vow in record time.

“Sorry! Sorry!” The lady hops over to the table with her purse swinging perilously like a medieval flail. Her blond hair is windswept and wild from the outside, and the glittering drops of rain cling to her golden tresses and long eyelashes like stardust. Her cheeks and nose have a rosy glow that reminds Rukia of summer peaches.

The woman, Rangiku, squeezes herself between Momo and Izuru, grinning madly. “I had to make a call. My boss- I told you guys about him, right? Isshun has been jumping up my butt so hard this week, everything in my nightmares has this little goatee and doofy vacant expression.”

Her sapphire eyes scan the table around her, stopping between Renji and Shuuhei and narrowing in on none other than Rukia. Rukia feels herself turn a little warm under her jacket. Did they turn up the heat in here or something? No, there’s just a very beautiful person smiling at her sweetly. “Oh, hi! Oh my god, you’re the girl who was playing the violin on stage, right? You were so good, the music was so pretty and exciting!”

“It was?” Rukia blinks, jaw a little slack until Renji kicks her hard in her shin. “I mean- Thank you so much for saying so. I’m glad to know you like pretty and exciting things.”

She has absolutely no idea where that last part came from. God, Rukia, what does that even mean? Her face burns as Rukia tries to ignore Renji sniggering in her ear.

But Rangiku’s eyes go low and half-lidded. Her cheeks are round and high from smiling so deeply. “Ooh! Cute, talented, and a flirt, are we?” She breaks into a high giggle and Rukia can’t believe it.

Her laugh, this gorgeous woman’s face lighting up with laughter and joy, is absolutely earsplitting. How can one sound be so loud? Rukia isn’t sure it’s the noisiest thing on earth, but she would bet it has to be pretty high up there, somewhere around the sound rocket engines make before blasting off of earth and into space.

Rukia’s hands slam down on the table, standing up with self-righteous conviction. “It was you!” She collects stares as Rukia comes to the dawning realization that her music has met it’s kryptonite.

 

A few hours wane gently into the night. At some point Momo seizes possession of the bar’s jukebox machine and tries to be a DJ while Renji and Izuru try to convince Shuuhei to dance.

Rangiku jeers at Shuuhei from the table, and Rukia expects her to, at any minute, leap up and join the others. But to her surprise, the blond woman seems very happy to stay seated and sip her drink, some colorful thing in a high-stemmed glass.

Rukia, herself, is beginning to get tired. She’s never handled alcohol all that well, and the adrenaline from her performance has long worn off since Rukia stepped off stage, leaving her limbs heavy.

She suddenly feels a lot less heavy when Rangiku slides up next to her in the booth, and there’s a warm, round shoulder pressed up against her own.

“I see.” Rangiku nods seriously with her white-painted fingernail pressed against her pink lips. “So my laugh distracted you when you were playing, right?”

Rukia nods, immensely ashamed. She’d never want to make anyone feel embarrassed about their laugh, no matter how loud it was. A laugh is something that’s supposed to be special and great. But Rangiku just looks amused, flashing white teeth in a grin.

“Weeeeell, I know I can be just a teensy bit loud! But you know I wasn’t laughing at you, right? I just get distracted by things a lot.”

“I figured.” Rukia agrees, and places her arms folded over the table. “I really don’t want to make you feel bad, or think I was mad at you. It just took me by surprise is the thing. People are noisy in here all the time, even when I’m playing. Usually, I’m not so easily distracted.”

“So, you’re a musician.” Rangiku says with her hand on her cheek. Rukia can’t help feeling like they’re suddenly having a completely different conversation. “That’s got to be pretty exciting, right? I was never very good with music. It must be really cool to get to play for a live audience. Do you play here a lot?”

Rukia taps her toes against the floor. In the background, she can hear a more than slightly drunk Shuuhei attempting to croon along to some cheesy ballad, serenading Izuru while Momo wolf-whistles. “To tell you the truth, I really just started. I’m hoping I’ll get to be here every week. I like the audience and all, but getting to play more is the only think I actually care about.”

That sounds a little pretentious to her own ears, and Rukia realizes she’s barely heard Rangiku talk about herself all evening. “What about you, Miss…”

“You could just call me Rangiku.” Rangiku smiles thinly, in a way that strikes Rukia as catlike somehow. “But my full name is Matsumoto Rangiku.”

“Miss Matsumoto, sorry. What about you? What do you… do?” Is there anybody out here as smooth and sophisticated as Rukia Kuchiki is? Check it out, ladies. She’s single.

Rangiku rolls her eyes, her full lips turning downwards into a frown. “Ah, I’m a journalist for a little magazine that’s trying to stay afloat in this, the so-called age of the death of the printed word. I write about fashion and style. I don’t get to do a lot of the writing I want to because I’m so young. Guess how old I am.”

“Um.” This seems like a dangerous question.

“I’m 26.” She answers her own question, smirking in a way that doesn’t seem entirely earnest. “That’s practically an infant in the journalism world.”

“Oh!” That’s only three years older than Rukia is. One whole thing learned. Good job, Kuchiki. Rukia presses. “So you, like, cover fashion shows and what’s ‘in’ for the season? I don’t really know much about the fashion world.”

“Well, it’s kind of like that, honestly. But it’s boring as hell, so I want to do other stuff.” Rangiku glares a hole into the wall across from her, and it strikes Rukia as kind of shocking to see such a severe look on this woman who had been beaming and hyena-cackling all night.

However, Rukia’s interest is also officially piqued. “Other stuff?”

“Yes! People want to make fashion so boring! Here’s the dresses all the girls are wearing, here’s the suits for all the guys.” Rangiku makes some grand gestures with her hands that nearly knock over a half-empty glass. “That’s not what I’m into. I wanna write about clothes from different cultures and countries. I want to see new and original ideas that people are making. Maybe even, I don’t know, design my own clothes one day!”

Rukia is struck with fascination. Rangiku’s face has completely changed, and between each word Rukia can see the flashing of her teeth. She looks ambitious and powerful, with her shoulders squared and her elegant hands curled into claws.

“I don’t want people to think that just going with the flow is enough. They don’t know what it’s like to be the kind of person who wasn’t born fitting in with what everyone else thinks is ‘pretty’.”

As Rangiku’s spurt of righteousness peters out, she seems surprised to see Rukia intently listening. Eyes wide, Rangiku clears her throat and checks her silver necklace bobbing against her sternum. “That’s my take on it.”

Rukia tucks one of her bangs behind her ear, eyes glued to Rangiku. “Do you wanna come see me play again next week?”

* * *

 

“Rukia’s got a cru-ush…” Renji chides as Rukia strides to the stage. Rangiku is already sitting in plain sight, at the table closest to the stage, a fact of which Rukia is incredibly aware of.

“Shut up.”

Rukia unpacks her violin from its trusty case, having been carefully and precisely tuned just before Rukia left the house. Byakuya was curious why Rukia had been practicing so much this week, asking her if she was planning a bigger show than usual or preparing for a difficult piece.

Rukia doesn’t need a big show or some complicated piece tonight, though. She just needs to play as well as she knows she can.

Rukia pins the violin in its place under her chin, where she can feel the music echo all the way into her jaw. The lights on her make it hard to see distinct shapes in the audience, but Rukia can just make out the shadowy form of Rangiku sitting at attention. As her eyes adjust to the brightness, Rangiku becomes gradually more clear. Rukia can see the blue of her dress and the blue of her eyes standing out as clear as candlelight.

Swallowing and inhaling a stiff breath, Rukia begins to play without pretense.

She had not always been so bold, of course. Didn’t always like to play in front of people, let alone in front of someone she wanted to impress. How many days had she sat on Ukitake’s couch, trying not to cry her little eyes out while the patient doctor waited for her to pull herself together, asking Rukia why. Why was she so hard on herself? Why did she read every mistake she made as a sign of her uselessness and weakness? Why did she see herself as a failure when there were so many people who loved her despite her flaws?

In the end, Rukia isn’t sure she found an answer to those questions. Maybe there was just something deep inside her, like a little devil on her shoulder, that would always be feeding those thoughts to her. Her fears, her insecurities, her anger. Maybe there always would be, and every day Rukia would have to flick that little devil away and make the decision to be strong. Maybe that would make her a better person.

It certainly made her a better musician.

The violin sings, high this time but not fast. Slow, and loud, and powerful. A song about power, about confidence and awakening. Rukia was a stronger person. A stronger woman. She wanted to see that in herself. She wanted Rangiku to see that about her, maybe even know that Rukia wasn’t always a shy, shrinking violet who blushed like a schoolgirl whenever a pretty person talked to her, but baby steps.

Rukia played and gripped the bow and the violin in an iron grasp until she could feel her fingers and hands become sore. She dared to keep her eyes open and search for Rangiku against the pounding brightness of the spotlight, hungry for the chance to read her reaction.

And there Rangiku was- or… half of her, anyways. Where Rukia could see her long legs and shiny black boots, the top half of Rangiku was blocked by a waiter wielding a dishrag. On the table, Rukia could spot a spilled drink and Rangiku’s hands fussing to save her phone from the liquid while the waiter mopped it up.

Dear God; what did Rukia ever do to you?

At the very least, the waiter was done in time for the end of Rukia’s song. And she got to see Rangiku grin widely, brightly, jumping out of her seat and clapping louder than everybody else. That definitely felt good.

As Rukia powerwalked her way to Renji’s table, she said shortly. “I need you to do me a solid and then make yourself scarce.”

Renji slapped his palm on the table and gifted Rukia with a deathly serious expression. “Got it.” Before hopping to his feet and shadowing Rukia all the way back to Rangiku’s table.

“Man, wasn’t Rukia great tonight? She’s been working real hard, playing the violin since high school. That kind of dedication is amazing.” Renji beams and pulls out a chair at Rangiku’s table for Rukia to float into, then casts the fakest look at his watch that Rukia has ever seen on a person faking-looking at his watch. “Aw, geez. How late is it. I have to get up early for work tomorrow. So-” He jabs his thumb at the door. “I’mma go.”

And with that he’s off like a fired bullet, leaving the two women alone. Rangiku raises an eyebrow at the place Renji just was. “That was kind of weird, huh?”

“Renji’s a pretty weird guy.” Rukia answers, trying to not make it obvious that she doesn’t want to talk about Renji any more than she has to.

“Right.” Rangiku says, and her gaze finally swivels back to Rukia. Her lips have a thoughtful pout to them, and one nail taps methodically against the surface of the table. “And you and Renji are…”

“Gay.” Rukia responds without thinking. “I mean- yes, Renji and I are gay. He’s into dudes and I am… not.” She shrugs and smiles weakly, hoping that this was the correct kind of social blundering that Rangiku find cute.

It looks like Rukia was right on the money. Rangiku giggles her adorable, horrible giggle and snorts while doing so, smiling fondly at Rukia in a way that makes her light up warm inside. “I get it. Sometimes it just pays to check, you know? Not all girls like it when I flirt with them.”

Flirting: confirmed. Rukia internally does a fistpump while keeping a cool and casual mask solidly in place. “To be honest, I can’t imagine anyone being upset with you flirting with them.”

“Heh. You’re really sweet.” Rangiku grins, but something about her looks a little… sad. She has laughter lines around her eyes, she looks too beautiful and kind to be sad.

Rukia feels the air around them become weird and dense. Rangiku’s lashes flutter, but not flirtatiously. She looks down at the table and traces pictures on the surface with the condensation of her drink. Rukia thinks she’s drawing a kitty. “You probably can’t tell anymore, but I’m, uh, I’m trans. I grew up in kind of this small town where everybody knew each other, and a lot of people didn’t like the idea of me dating, well, anybody.”

Rukia feels something like a hand wrap around her heart, squeezing painfully. Her lips turn in a deep frown, brows knitting seriously. “Those people are idiots.”

“Oh, I know! Believe me, I know.” Rangiku barks a laugh, and she looks beautiful when she does. She still sounds like a witch on helium, but her entire face is pink and elated and magical. Her joy is contagious, and Rukia feels herself smile as well.

Rangiku takes a big sip of her new drink (water) and wipes away the excess moisture with the back of her hand. She takes a deep, gasping breath. “Ah, I can’t believe I told you all that crap. You seem reliable, Rukia. I hope my instincts about you are right.”

Rukia can feel her heartbeat in her ear, loud and like a drum. “Do you wanna get lunch tomorrow?”

* * *

 

They agree to meet at Rangiku’s apartment before leaving together, Rangiku having written her address on a napkin in pink gel pen before tucking it into Rukia’s coat pocket. She says goodbye to Byakuya before she leaves, leaving him to blink at the door and probably wonder where the hell Rukia is disappearing off to so early.

Rukia is practically on her toes the entire elevator ride up to Rangiku’s floor. When she walks through the halls she can feel her breaths expanding and collapsing inside of her chest. She stops at the door that says 8-10 and readjusts her violin case in her hand before knocking.

Before anything, Rukia can hear a loud meowing just on the other side of the door. Then a sound of banging and pounding feet that absolutely must belong to Rangiku running around inside. Rukia waits patiently, rocking on her heels, as Rangiku argues with the cat. “Shoo, Haineko! That’s not for you! I told you-”

After an indeterminable amount of time, Rangiku opens the door looking radiant. The confidence in her face and posture only falters when surprise takes over, her eyes hovering on Rukia’s violin case. “Hello, Rukia-chan! You’re bringing your case with you? Musicians really are dedicated.”

Rukia bows her head apologetically. “I’m sorry, Rangiku, but is it okay if we postpone lunch for a few minutes?” After an off-beat, her expression unchanged, Rukia realizes she’s still standing in the doorway. “Also, may I please come inside?”

Rangiku, of course, ushers her in and takes her coat. At Rukia’s feet, a skinny black cat watches her warily. It’s yellow eyes glow as it sniffs Rukia’s skirt with animal curiosity.

The inside of Rangiku’s apartment is surprisingly messy for someone so careful and organized with her appearance. The couch is practically a mountain of pillows, and there’s a stack of dirty dishes and tea cups visible in the kitchen. The bedroom door yawns open, where Rukia can see an unmade bed and a few discarded pieces of clothing tossed here and there.

There’s no raised platform or spotlight, but this will be the perfect stage.

“Rangiku, would you mind taking a seat please?” Rukia asks gently. Rangiku places herself on the overstuffed couch and watches with big eyes as Rukia opens her case and begins tuning her violin.

“Rukia, what’s going on?” Rangiku’s knees bounce with excitement. It’s obvious what is going on, but it’s also obvious that Rangiku is an excellent audience. Her hair is curled today, and bounces against her chin when she can’t stop wiggling. Everything about her is stunning.

Rukia inhales deeply, stretching her back and finding her most dramatic pose. With a flourish she points the bow directly at Rangiku. “Today, for one day only, a special performance.” Her eyes are narrow and serious. No distractions. No spilled drinks. “I have make a request; please keep your eyes on me and only me.”


End file.
